


i can be your angle or yuor devil

by press



Category: Sherlock (TV), Soul Eater
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Kid Fic, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, i mean its not like snuff but it may be gross i guess, idk what do you want from me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 19:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/press/pseuds/press
Summary: I don't know when soul eater is supposed to take place so this could be canon. Leave me olone guys I want to make this thanks





	1. stalking children will get you fired

Two young boys stepped off of the plane and into the airport. They had been given two first class seats, the previous occupants having been reassigned while boarding. The two children each were in possession of one carry on bag, with no checked luggage. Once at LHR, they were escorted by uniformed US officers past customs and given a card, presumably loaded with money.

The curious camera controller was repeating the known facts after boiling them down to the important details of his conundrum. He was clueless as to what these two children were.

On the seating chart for the luxury plane, the two seats filled by the boys were simply labeled 'DWMA.' He had never seen that acronym used, nor did he have any clue what it could possibly stand for. His boss's agents based in America reported that the two had taken off from New York City after a connecting flight from Las Vegas via a private plane also registered under DWMA. Before that point, the boys had appeared out of the Nevada desert. That was as much as could be gathered about the children's origins.

The items in their arms had not passed through security at either location, as they had been escorted to their gate similarly to how they were after exiting the cabin. The bags were closed, and the security supervisor had no knowledge of their contents.

There was also the issue of their escorts. Communications to the two soldiers had been intercepted and therefore he knew that their orders were genuine and came from a high authority. This couldn't be a ruse; uniformed officers attracted attention at any location, especially guiding a couple small children with hands on their firearms. If it was an attempt at a ruse, it was almost painfully obvious. The men had asked the two to confirm their identities, at which point they had both pulled necklaces from beneath their shirts. The items both sported oddly shaped white tags, and after flipping them over, presumably to check information, the soldier had nodded and he and his companion led the boys past the lines.

The man was confused. What was the point of anonymity in seating if the two boys were going to receive an armed escort through a very public international airport? Why go through the trouble to get them through customs only to leave them to catch their own train? Why were they given a black card? And just who are these children?

He returned his attention to the monitor and observed the boys as they waited for the tube. The taller of the two looked to be a few years older than his companion, but much more childish. His eyes were wide as he swiveled his head back and forth, trying to see everything at once. On the black and white footage, his eyes were bright and his hair dark. He was clad in black. The other boy was maybe three inches shorter and appeared quite young. He stood still, angled towards the older boy, with his eyes half closed and a bored expression. His eyes were as dark as the others hair and his hair white as his clothing on the computer screen.

Presently the tube arrived. The two boarded and, fortunately for the employee's curiosity, chose seats directly across from the carriage's color security camera. The British Government employee zoomed in and took a closer look at the first boy.

His hair was the first thing to note of the child. It was a red so bright it was like a crayon. But, impossibly, it appeared to be natural. His eyebrows matched the shade, and his eyelashes were long and thick enough to confirm that yes indeed, scarlet is a natural hair color. He blinked onscreen, and the action drew attention to his eyes. They were as bright as they were in greyscale, but now colorized in a clear sky blue.

The young specialist directed the camera to face the other boy and was greeted with an unsettling image. The child was staring directly into the camera lens, unblinking. Recovering quickly, the camera operator used the opportunity to inspect his eyes. In a deep forest green, they slid back and forth to maintain eye contact with the invisible viewer. Now he felt properly freaked out. The boy's hair was a pleasant distraction. Through the higher quality lens, it was obvious that his hair was a wintry silver grey, rather than white. This was proven natural as well, but the boy was too pale for it to have been sun-bleached, so, again, the man at the computer acknowledged an improbable hair color.

As he zoomed the camera back to its original magnification, the operator directed his attention to their clothing. The cherry redhead has clad in a uniform of some sort. It was solid black from the dress shoes to the pants to the high-collared shirt, but was secured with round brass buttons up the front and a large metallic cross at his throat. The other boy was dressed the same, but in white. The seams all looked like they had been sown by their wearer, and the buttons and cross were missing to make way for more stitches.

The boys were seemingly belonging to an important organization, if their escort, uniforms, and matching identification tags were anything to go by. But the older boy couldn't possibly be over fourteen, if he was being generous, and no school was allowed the privileges these children were graced with.

As the young operator glanced at the time, he grabbed a external drive and copied all relevant files pertaining to anything about the mysterious kids. He had done things similar for his employer dozens of times so this wasn't raising any alarms. He'd just come back tomorrow for his next shift and bring the drive home with him. He almost couldn't believe that these two kids were making him break the rules, but they were really that intriguing. He powered down the monitor, stood up, and turned around to find himself staring up at Mycroft Holmes himself.

The terrified camera operator released a shuddering sigh and placed his phone, watch, laptop, glasses, pens, and all other items on his person on his desk before being firmly removed from the premises by a guard. As he counted his lucky stars that he only lost his job and not his life, he allowed one last thought to himself about what he threw his job away for.

"Who are those kids?"


	2. religious chick makes assumptions

She was not scared! She was lost, but her mobile had service and she would soon be free of London's extensive alleyways. The professional atmosphere she usually carried was shattered, as were her glasses. Even if she couldn't see ten feet in front of her, she could see her map, and that was all she needed.

The young woman clacked on her heels through the narrow streets and prayed for an escape to arrive sooner. With her eyes glued to the glowing screen in her hand, she didn't notice the pairs of red lights blinking out at her from a doorway. She glanced up and noticed that she had come to an intersection in the alleys; she stopped out of habit. The clicking of her shoes didn't stop.

Before the businesswoman could scream, the noise increased in volume and speed. She succumbed to unconsciousness after a heavy blow to her head.

As her eyes blinked open, the young woman first noticed the blood in her mouth. Second was the blood saturating the body of an eviscerated man, not even two meters away from where she sat. The terror locked up her throat, and she could only watch horrified as a strange blue white ball rose from his ruined chest. A clattering noise drew her attention, and she noticed a dark hulking shape moving with a familiar sound. Even without her glasses, the weak electric lights in the building they were in showed her too much of the other living thing in the room.

It was vaguely egg shaped, from what she could tell, and colored like human muscle. It had... legs. Too many legs. They were jointed and tapered to a pinkish point. The woman was reminded of a spider, but the abomination before her was nowhere near as safe looking as an arachnid. Worst of all was its head. It clacked forward on its near infinite limbs and dipped down towards the glowing orb. As it ducked within the businesswoman's range of clarity, she wished she could scream.

The misshapen sphere was distorted and lumpy, like bones had been stretched to and past the breaking point, being pushed out and up by an unstoppable force. The thing had blotches of bloody tan skin across what could be called its face that looked torn and peeling. Worst of all were its eyes. It had four sets of human eyes bulging out from the middle of its head. They were bloodshot and dry and flickered around the space as if they couldn't bear to look at any of it. The irises swelled with blood and were colored a dark red. When the thing's massive jaw unhinged from below and scooped the orb into its maw, the eyes glowed with an unnatural light.

The young professional whimpered out all the prayers and pleas she knew to her lord up above to please save her, send her help, let her live! The demon managed to focus most of its eyes on her and approached, intent on letting her join the man on the floor. One of the legs clicked right up next to her calf and the young woman managed to gather enough air to let out an ear-piercing scream.

Suddenly there was a shattering noise and the empty room flooded with light. Her eyes adjusted and she was graced with a vision of her savior. Standing over the glittering remains of what must have been a painted over window was a boy in white. From his hair to his skin to his clothing, the child was a snow pure white or a regal silver. There was no doubt that this was the angel God had sent to rescue her.

In his hands was the instrument of the monsters destruction: a large black scythe. The lord had sent one of his children armed with the weapon of death itself to defend her, a sinner. She couldn't believe this was happening. But the creature turned and skittered violently towards this intruder, striking and throwing her sideways in the process. She watched in awe as the boy jumped over a striking leg, and kept going. If she questioned it before, she now knew that her rescuer was an angel. He just flew!

**Get away!**

The voice was high and panicked. It had a metallic quality to it, almost otherworldly. The gleaming black blade slid through the air and sliced off a couple limbs that strayed too close to the child. He vaulted out of range with using the pole of the scythe and flipped to his feet with grace. As the spiderlike monster scrambled towards the angel the voice came again.

**Please run and get the police! Get out of here!**

The distortion of the voice reached a peak when the weapon was swung through a few more wandering legs. She couldn't see the expression on the white face of the boy, but the desperation heard in the supernatural voice of her savior was enough to make her stumble to her feet and run for help. After she picked her way through the spattered glass, the young woman turned in time to watch her angelic rescuer send the creature flying with a flash of light from the palm not occupied with the great scythe.

Her angel launched himself forward and buried the blade into the malformed head. The terrifying being blackened and then almost unraveled. The only thing to show it had existed was the weapon sunk into the floor and a hazy pinprick of red in the building. The businesswoman faced away and rand as fast as she could for anyone to bring help. She heard crunching glass and a familiar voice behind her and already knew that when she returned, nothing but the man's body would remain in the abandoned building. As she sprinted for civilization, her trembling voice spoke up, if only to herself.

"I met an angel bearing death's scythe..."


	3. its not murder if its your homework

Spirit and I finally exited the restaurant where he had lunch. The meal had taken even longer than usual because he kept trying to make me eat something. I eat breakfast and dinner, isn't that enough? We walked down the sidewalk, with Spirit behind me and to my right, like he always was. I don't think he even realizes that he nearly always lets me take the lead, no matter what we're doing. It is convenient for whenever I need him to transform and he's right there for me to grab. It isn't when I need him to see my expressions of frustration at whatever new activity he decides is a good idea.

Now that I think about it, it's very possible that the habit evolved from his subconscious wanting to escape my displeasure. What you can't see isn't real, and all that. Spirit does hate when I'm upset, especially at him. If I've learned one thing about him in the year we've been partnered, it's that he is extremely eager to please.

To my right, there's a slash-scrape-gargle that sounds remarkably like Spirit cleaving through a limb. My arm is already flung behind me as I pivot to race down the alley.

I grab his wrist and tug him completely off of his feet when I take off.

" _Transform._ "

I use what I've taken to calling my 'Meister Voice' and before Spirit is really even realizing what's going on, he's already glowing and becoming metal in my hands. I shush his protests as he solidifies.

"Someone, or something, was just seriously injured by a blade. I'm going to see what it is."

This is exciting! Even more intresting than that spider-like pre-Kishin we killed. Unlike that one, this new adventure wasn't assigned by our teacher. I unfocused my eyes slightly on the real world to tune into the soul wavelengths around me, something that I'm just getting used to doing. There are two pure human-blue souls around that corner. One is sinking into the other, staining it a sick Kishin-red. Incredible. I just witnessed the beginning transformation from person to monster. What if I rip it in two before the change is complete?

The thought seems to send power to my legs because I make it to the corner faster than I would have otherwise. Two souls have fully become one before my eyes. I missed it! Spirit slices through flesh and bone as if it were wax. The orb leaps out of the chest and gives a great pulse. Spirit gasps when the sickly power radiates over his blade and I shudder empathetically. He's essentially a violin string, picking up vibrations and amplifying them into sound, or in the case of souls, power. The pre-Kishin wavelength must have made him feel awful. In all honesty though, he probably feels more awful because of the scene at my feet.

The scythe glows in my hand, but I really want him to land on his feet this time because of the blood on the ground, so I don't release the weapon. The shine shifts and stretches until my hand rests on the waist of a boy. A boy who is currently whimpering and struggling to remain upright.

"Stein? Why hasn't the body disappeared?"

Spirit's eyes are wide and glisten with terrified tears in the dim light. His hands clutch my shoulders and he stares down at me like I know exactly what's going on. I don't. I do have an idea, though.

"If you're worried about if we killed a human or not, don't be. I saw his soul, and he was fully non-human when he died. Look, his soul is red. The reason the body is still here is... remember that pulse of energy and light it gave off? That was the power of the pre-Kishin. If we had been a second later, I'm sure it would have turned the man into a monster. That's why the body is still there; the body was human, even if its occupant wasn't any longer."

I move my hand from his side and luckily Spirit seems to understand what I want. He unclenches his hands and takes a step backwards, ducking his head in what must be a mix of apology (for staying too close for too long) and understanding (that we haven't killed a human, the body was just a host). He scrubs his sleeve over his eyes and shakily smiles at me. In a couple hours his feelings will fade and he'll be back to normal by tomorrow.

"Let's get out of here. I really wanna take a nap."

I indulge him with a smile of my own.

"Are you sure you're twelve? You act half your age most of the time."

"Shut it! I'm two whole years older than you, shorty!"

"My apologies, Senpai."

"Don't pretend you're polite!"

Spirit fell into step behind me and I prepared myself to argue with him back to our hotel. Could be a whole lot worse. After all, the trudge back if we had killed a human would be devastating to our partnership. But that will never happen.

Probably.


	4. whoops how did this corpse get here

As I flick off the lights in my room, I hear heavy footsteps jogging up the stairs to our flat. I quickly go down to join Sherlock as well as Greg, when he leans heavily into the room. He seems more unsettled than he usually is when he comes to bring Sherlock a new case. Something must be rather off about it. Well, more than normal, at least. Sherlock is already tugging on his coat by the time Greg gathers a breath to speak.

"Text me the details on the way to the morgue, Lestrade. John? This will probably go on your little blog based on the way Detective Inspector Lestrade is making a valiant effort to splinter our doorway. Come along!"

After the long legged git had pranced down the stairs, I yank on my shoes and send my friend a questioning glance. He had stretched his features into an expression of grim horrified disgust. This really doesn't bode well for the remains of the poor victim. I exit and Greg shuts the door behind himself. He gets into his patrol car and I into the cab that Sherlock had magically summoned out of nowhere.

My friend directed the cabbie to follow after the police car, and he materialized his phone into his hand as the vehicle started moving. I watched as he read through the texts Greg sent him, quick as a flash, then stared into space until his mobile went to sleep. I turned and watched out the window for lack of anything else to do. I had only just gotten dressed when the Detective Inspector had barged into the flat!

We arrived and Sherlock suddenly exploded into motion, throwing some notes at me and storming out to the morgue. I thanked the cabbie and paid, quickly following after the brilliant man. He was like an icebreaker on a frozen sea; everyone parted around him as he came through and zeroed in on Lestrade, who was attempting to act unaffected by whatever awaited us. Sherlock and I soon found ourselves standing in front of two bodies.

The first was of a man, probably middle twenties, well dressed, clean-shaven, obviously a business type. The only thing off about the poor sod was the deep gash slicing across the fron of his neck. It was so deep that I could see a flash of bloody bone through the gore. Blood stained the front of his once clean shirt and was caked under his nails. He has apparently tried to fight off whatever had killed him. While my friend had already glanced over the young corpse and was inspecting the other, I found myself unable to join him. My mind kept balking at the idea. I know I caught a glimpse of the cadaver, but my brain keeps skimming over the memory.

"John."

I looked up to see my flatmate intently staring at my face, probably seeing what was passing through my head. He had modulated his voice in such a way that I couldn't help myself but to walk over and join him at the second body. With a final deep breath, I turned my gaze downwards and observed the cadaver.

This one was also a young man, but definitely worse off financially than the other was. He appeared older, had a scraggly beard, and was smudged with dirt. His clothing was threadbare and ragged. His open maw exposed his rotting teeth, but even the swollen gums were easier to look at than the rest of his body. His clothes were entirely saturated in blood up to his collarbones and down to his knees. He had bloody scratches on his arms and a knife held in a dead man's grip. Evidently he was the one to kill the other. But a knife wasn't what killed him.

Below where his rib cage, about at the level of his belly button, there was a gap between the top half and bottom half of his body. I can see the metal of the table all the way through. This man had been cut entirely in half. It was completely clean. The skin, fat, muscle, organs, and bone had smoothly parted from their other halfs and stayed in their places. It was like a crosssection from a medical textbook. Here was the spinal cord, the abdominal muscles, the intestines...

I stagger back a half a step. Poor Officer Nobody who discovered him needs a pint or two to recover from this find. I'm going to need one, or at least a good cuppa. I haven't even eaten breakfast yet, which I'm increasingly grateful for. I think I might be a bit sick. I step back up to Sherlock's side and face him, an unspoken signal to begin dazzling everyone in the vicinity.

"Obviously, this man grabbed the other and dragged him into the alley where they were both found, most likely from the lesser-used street directly down rather that off a busy street and around the corner. He had one hand around his mouth and the other around his middle, based on the angle of the scratch marks. The other man had gotten one arm free and was trying to pry the hand off his mouth when he released his other arm, pulled the knife out of his belt, based on the cuts on the inside of it and on his jeans, and slit the businessman's throat. He must have been exceedingly enthusiastic about it for all that it was his first time doing it, as you can see the rough edges even if it cut all the way to bone."

He narrowed his eyes and stalked around the table. My brilliant friend leaned over, pulling his magnifying glass from his coat pocket. Opening it, he leaned closer and stared intently at the very edge of the skin. He whirled back around the table and gave the other side the same treatment. Sliding the glass shut, he straightened and once more addressed the room.

"The man was cut through with a giant blade. It had enough weight behind it that it could go right through, as I'm sure you can tell that there are no signs of snags on the bones. It also was incredibly sharp as it sliced the whole way, unlike other weapons which tear. You can tell that it was long because the edges of skin curve in here and furl outward on the other side in the exact same way, so there was only one pass. If the man were standing, the cut is perfectly parallel with the ground, so either the attacker is an extremely strong child or midget who swung a sword massive enough and with enough strength to cut a man in half, or more likely, an adult was crouched down and attacked."

Sherlock pivoted on his heel with his hands buried in his pockets. He quickly locates Greg on the far side of the room and addresses him with an air of superiority.

"I assume that you want to find whoever is responsible for cutting him in half. Without having been to the crime scene I can only give you details based on what I can gather from the body. You're going to look for a man, most likely, especially one who has an affinity for fantasy. He is going to be extremely strong, and probably has at least one health club membership. He's going to have enough money and dedication to obtain large swords and other bladed weapons, extremely well-kept and made. He extensively trains with these weapons and knows how to use them. There can't be too many people to fit that description, Lestrade, it should be rather easy to catch a bird as brightly colored as that. And now, John, we're going to see the scene of the massacre. Come on!"

In typical Sherlockian fashion, he dramatically swept from the room, leaving me to apologize and hurry after. I soon found myself sitting in another cab, contemplating whether or not it would be worth it to eat something with the way this case looks like it's going to turn. My friend on the other hand was nearly bouncing in excitement, eyes flickering back and forth, watching something only he could see. I am glad that this came up so fast after the last case we took, because it didn't give Sherlock time to fall into another depressive rut, but I would've liked a day's rest, at least.

The cab pulled into a stop and this time Sherlock actually paid himself before sliding out to the street. The alley was taped off and crawling with personnel. He seemed less angry with the collective group than normal, so Anderson must not have been on forensics this time. He ushered me under the tape and swiftly made his way over to the intersection between the two alleys, where he picked up a new frantic energy. I stood back and watched as he almost put his nose on the pavement and crawled back and forth, examining the ground. He sat back on his heels at the edge of a large blood stain and stared down at it. While I watched, his eyes widened and widened again before narrowing to focus like a laser directing a missile.

Sherlock gracefully rose to his feet before yanking me off the crime scene and into another cab.

"Baker Street."

I sit in silence for a bit.

"So you've figured it out, then?"

"I've often told you that once you eliminate the impossible, the improbable remainder is true? Well, I'm confirming my hypothesis."

And with that vague answer, he refused to respond to any other attempts of mine to initiate conversation. A good deal is still left unknown in my mind, but the solution will present itself soon if Sherlock's actions are anything to go by.

Hopefully.


	5. is this what its like to be smart

John pays the cabbie while I take the stairs three at a time. I overshoot the last two so I land exactly where I need to stand to be in the blind spot of the opening door. He would be impressed if I ever showed him. However, I would hate to cause him the mental anguish which my defensive position may arouse. John is a military man, after all. He instinctually responds to certain body language and tones of voice like he would on a battlefield. While usually an advantage, occasionally it backfires and brings up painful memories for him.

I open the door and listen; everything is normal. Tossing my coat to land it on the hook is a fun exercise; it misses but catches on the one beneath, so I consider it a partial success. By the time John will have scaled the stairs, I'll already have my computer turning on.

As my friend crosses the threshold I'm logged on and starting to access the CCTV systems for the immediate area of the crime scene. Mycroft slipped up the last time we were in contact with each other and I intend to take full advantage of his privileges to work from the flat. My brother's cameras once again prove to be useful for something: the camera facing the entrance to the alley on the quieter street captures the businessman being dragged into the shadows, but no one else until the metropolitan idiots arrive.

The other entrance to the scene of the murders is covered by a panning camera which doesn't show the actual alleyway entrance for up to ten seconds at a time. I pull up cameras farther along on the road in both directions to see if anyone takes longer to walk past than they should. A couple pedestrians go into shops, but none disappear. Except for two boys. Here they are walking into the panning camera's range, then as it looks over the alley entrance, they are gone. And here they are once again, walking out of the pan into the view of the camera up the street.

There were two sets of children's footprintswalking out of the alley, but only one set going in. Even in the poor quality video, it's easy to see that neither child is concealing a blade big enough to cut through a man. There wasn't anything in the alleyway, either. there was a fire escape, but both of them are too short to reach it and there wasn't enough time for them to work together to grab it. Even if they did, the tramp would've heard them and either attacked or run away. Then how...

"Sherlock! Window, _now_!"

Captain Watson drags me from my deductions. I can hear screams and crunches from outside even sitting in my chair. Vaulting over the back is the quickest way to the window. John moves to grab for his gun and I slide into the newly unoccupied space to see.

Balanced on the tire of an overturned car is one of the boys from the footage wielding a weapon capable of cleaving straight through a human: a large black scythe.


	6. noo i hurt my own baby

The world curves around and around as Stein spins me above his head. I try to send him a mental image of his surroundings and it either works of my meister is just good because he leaps backwards off the car and safely onto the curb. The Kishin in front of us appears entirely human save for the bat wings poking from its back. We already sliced through one of them so it won't be flying away hopefully.

**Stein? Did you get that?**

"No, senpai. It was a feeling of where would be okay to jump, though."

**Great! Teacher did say that sometimes we wouldn't have to talk to communicate!**

Wow, Spirit, teacher's pet much? I gotta focus! Stein swings me at the monster's head as it tries to get its fist out of the bottom on the car it overturned. It leaps back right before we would've hit it and into the weirdly empty road. Not that it's a bad thing, because it means less people to get hurt!

"Spirit, focus."

Stein probably sensed I was going to get sidetracked. My meister leaps onto the car and into the air, ready to swing me down over his head. The Kishin dodges again and Stein twists until he vaults off of the base of the handle instead of the blade of my weapon form. This lets him kick the creature right in the face with both feet!

It goes flying and we come after it. It manages to catch itself and charges right back at us. Stein dives and catches its ankle in the cross part of my handle and a gross cracking noise echoes across my blade. _Ew_.

My meister rolls instead of dragging his face across the asphalt and gets back to his feet before the Kishin can. I can feel his heart get faster when he soars through the space between the monster and us. He twists me under him and plants one foot right above the cross piece and one right below, sending the point of my scythe blade directly through the pre-Kishin's chest and into the pavement beneath. We're done!

Stein jumps off of me and I start to transform back— wait. Why hasn't the body disappeared yet..!

" _Stein!_ "

Isn't it just a cliche that your life flashes before your eyes or that time slows down when you're about to die? I just suddenly remembered all the times I was an awful weapon for Stein. Not even that, but the times I was an awful partner, an awful friend! Stein is so talented and smart and amazing. He can definitely find a partner that is more powerful and not dumb enough to transform before an enemy is dead.

I wish I could stop while transforming and go back to weapon form. I've seen one of our instructors do it once! Spirit, you're twelve! Why do you have so many regrets? Who cares. I'm gonna be dead anyways. The moment just came. My human form stopped glowing and there's a knife but it's unraveling and AAAHHH!

"Owwwww! Oh, it _hurts_ , Stein! Help me, _please_!" I'm crying and screaming and Stein saved me. He tackled me off of the Kishin but it still got me and it hurts! "Please, please, _please_ make it stop! Ow ow ow ow it hurts so bad! Please Stein, help me!"

I can't smell anything but the dirt and I can't taste anything but blood and I can't hear anything but ringing and I can't see anything because it's blurry and wet and I can't feel anything but the PAIN—

" _Spirit!!_ "


End file.
